


Once and Future (this broken jaw of our lost kingdoms remix)

by omphale23



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/pseuds/omphale23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years of silence, Merlin wouldn't look him in the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once and Future (this broken jaw of our lost kingdoms remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waketosleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waketosleep/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Once and Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12040) by [waketosleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waketosleep/pseuds/waketosleep). 



After two years of silence, Merlin wouldn't look him in the eye.

Arthur finally, _finally_, tried, the way he should have done two years and what felt like a hundred lifetimes before. He did try, when it started to rain and everyone knew that the end was coming.

But at some point between the fight they never had—the one that should have been, on the afternoon that Arthur caught Merlin and Merlin _knew_ he'd been caught, which made it bloody impossible to ignore for any longer—between that long-lost day and Uther's death, Merlin had decided that Arthur wasn't worth looking at.

It was, quite possibly, entirely his own fault. It shouldn't have taken this—shouldn't have taken anything at all—to break the silence. There shouldn't have been one, no matter how much easier it made things.

Arthur hadn't bothered to explain his actions as he took them, not when every second that Merlin spent in his company was a chance that his father would notice. Not when they both knew. Not when Merlin wouldn't keep himself safe. Arthur—for all that he had no trouble explaining himself to anyone else, for all that everyone else in the _entire kingdom_ took his words as law—Arthur had never been able to convince Merlin to follow his instructions. Ever.

And so he had quietly and firmly pushed Merlin away, far enough that Uther wouldn't see him, far enough that neither of them would be tempted to break any other laws, far enough that Arthur could tell himself it was for the best and not hear Merlin's frustrated voice arguing against it.

That last bit only worked when Arthur was drunk or delirious with pain after failing, sometimes spectacularly, to fend off some magical beast. Arthur kept himself busy the rest of the time. He told himself it was the only way to keep Merlin alive, and that helped a bit. So did pretending that he hadn't noticed anything changing, that Guinevere didn't watch him spiral away, that Morgana didn't glare from across the room, that Merlin didn't—didn't. Arthur pretended, and got better at avoiding the places Merlin might be, and with practice, it was easier.

It was easier, even when his father lay dying and Merlin was there, hovering in the sickroom, risking his stupid neck despite Arthur's clenched jaw and furious glares. It was almost enough. Until Arthur admitted that, while he was attentive and quick to follow instructions from Gaius, Merlin didn't once look in Arthur's direction.

Arthur spent an hour trying to catch his eye, to order Merlin with a glance to _leave_, before something happened. Before the whole thing fell apart and it all came to nothing and Merlin became the latest in a series of victims. Before Arthur was tempted to kill Merlin himself, because what sort of idiot stayed in the sickroom of someone who wanted his kind _dead_? And when, when had Merlin gotten so good at staring out the window at the dreary dampness and not at Arthur, or Arthur's father, or anything within sight that ought to matter?

As the end neared, Arthur calmly decided that discretion was the better part of—something—and wandered down to the muddy practice grounds, where at least he could beat someone into the grass and pretend that Merlin wasn't behaving like a suicidal fool. Again. Still.

His knights were absent when he arrived. Taking up a stance and beginning a routine against the largest of the practice targets, Arthur pointed out—to the Merlin who was very much _not_ rolling his eyes and complaining about rusted armor in his head, dammit—that it was all well and good for Guinevere to have repeated for months that Merlin watched Arthur practice when he wasn't looking. Or for Gawain to argue that Merlin was miserable and had spent most of the first year moping about the Great Hall trying to catch a glimpse of Arthur from behind a pillar. Or for Arthur's frequent brushes with death and dismemberment to end just as frequently with dreams of Merlin, staring down at him with eyes blinking gold, running his hands over Arthur to check for injuries before vanishing into thin air. None of that mattered, because he truth of it was, Arthur had made a colossal mistake and he had no idea how to repair it.

He swung harder, but nothing stopped time and eventually Guinevere stood at the edge of the field, waiting for him to admit that it was over. She was alone, and Arthur hadn't expected anything different, but he had hoped. He shouldn't have hoped.

At some point, the rain had stopped. Arthur hadn't noticed. He couldn't decide if what he felt was sorrow, or relief.

His father was dead. Arthur sat up three nights, too exhausted to rest and his head spinning, wondering when he'd begin to feel like a king. When he did sleep, it was in snatches and his dreams were uneasy, fretful and confusing and full of places unfamiliar and strange and lonely.

Before they had—before Arthur had cracked them apart, Merlin would have been spinning about, tripping over his new wardrobe and spilling the soup Arthur hadn't requested and making an utter nuisance of himself. Merlin would have been a comfort, in that he'd have been of very little use and rather a lot of annoyance. Familiar and awkward and close.

Even a few weeks ago, Merlin had still hovered behind Morgana, almost within reach. His hands had sometimes twitched toward Arthur, aborted gestures that everyone else missed. Now, though, when he did manage to catch Merlin—just the once, and from far enough away that when Arthur cleared his throat and murmured, _Merlin, I wish_, he was ignored—when he could finally explain, Merlin flinched and looked at Arthur like he hoped for nothing at all. Arthur didn't try twice.

The afternoon before the coronation, Guinevere came to his door and asked him what he planned to say to the crowds. She asked if he was ready. Arthur stared at her, unable to decide either what she needed from him or how he could possibly provide it. He thought maybe she knew what Merlin wanted, could give him the right words, but that wasn't enough. In the end, he quietly closed the door in her face.

It was a very long night, that last one before he took the throne.

Arthur suspected that it might have been simpler if Merlin hadn't fallen into Morgana's orbit. Hadn't begun following her around like a lost comet so soon after he'd been pushed away—and Arthur _would not_ compare Morgana to himself, _would not_ remember all the times Merlin had trailed behind him, complaining and frustrating and _present_—undoing all the work Arthur had put into making Merlin invisible.

It might have been simpler it Guinevere had been less understanding, less ready to accept his actions and lighten the ache of watching Merlin drift further. If she'd been less quiet, less kind, less herself. If she'd been more like Merlin, more like Morgana. If she'd been able to hold them all together.

It might have been simpler if his father had found out, had forced a confrontation and allowed Arthur to choose between his kingdom and Merlin. He would have chosen. Somehow.

It might have been simpler—but the might have beens were useless, didn't help him in the least. Arthur fell into bed just before dawn, still trying to fit the pieces back together. He dozed in the early-morning sunshine, and woke from a nightmare—_fire and blood and darkness, Merlin turning away, Morgana's hand outstretched and holding Arthur back, holding him down, swallowing his voice so that Merlin didn't hear him begging_—to struggle into his robes and wander down to stand before his people and become their king.

Merlin stood in the Hall, and Arthur was distracted by him, nearly missed his cue to turn and kneel. Guinevere smiled, forgiving and forgiven, and Arthur took it as a blessing. When he stood again, it was done, and when he searched, Merlin was grinning, so nearly himself that Arthur's next choice came clear between one instant and the next.

And after that, the future slotted into place. From this place, this decision, to the next, to the next, the possibilities fell into line, and Arthur hesitated, unsure, until Morgana prodded him in the back and whispered, _yes, finally, you moron_. She swept off, and as they left the Hall Arthur caught a glimpse of her dragging Merlin along in her wake.

Good. He didn't know what Morgana had seen—but it was better that they all be together for this. When he reached the balcony, even Guinevere stood nearby, in the shadow of a doorway, watching Morgana with something very like hope in her eyes.

Arthur straightened his shoulders, felt the weight of his crown settle into place, and began to speak.

_Citizens of Camelot, today begins a new era! My father, Uther Pendragon, God rest his soul, was a brave and strong king, who commanded wisely and always kept the interests of his subjects close to his heart. These lessons he taught me, and I will proudly carry on his good deeds and the good name of the House of Pendragon._ He cleared his throat, wondering why his voice didn't sound like his own, when he'd acquired this new gravity.

_But as I learned from his example, and learned the lessons he taught me in how to be a good king, I also learned from his mistakes._ Arthur closed his eyes, continued. Finished. _Therefore, my first act as your king is to lift the ban on magic in all lands under my rule._

He heard Morgana's laughter, but it wasn't until Arthur turned and met Merlin's shocked stare that it all slid into place, the stars realigning.

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to S, who kicked this into shape and wouldn't allow shortcuts.


End file.
